


Saturn Returns Every 29 Years

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-09
Updated: 2008-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete has epiphanies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturn Returns Every 29 Years

The church was silent; everyone was completely still. Then, someone in the very back coughed, and this shook Pete out of whatever weird fugue his brain had descended into.

Facing him, Ashlee's eyes were wide and accusing. He took a deep breath, then another, feeling her soft hands go rigid in his. He heard the official repeat what he had asked Pete, and while part of Pete was struggling to say _I do_ , the majority of his mind was in some sort of sudden rebellion, refusing to let the words out. All the preparation, all the parties and media-blitz, and when it came down right to it, Pete just wasn't able to say two words.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

He felt a hand press in the small of his back, through the expensive material of the wild suit he'd had made, and a soft, melodious voice called his name in concern, right in his ear. He closed his eyes tightly and squeezed Ashlee's hands; then he wished with all his little dark heart that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

* * *

"Pete." The same voice was calling from the other side of the door. Pete was sitting on the closed toilet in the neat little bathroom, feeling as if his head was going to explode. Papa Joe had given him a serious left-hook and he could feel the area around his eye swelling ominously. Joe, bless him, had pounced on Ashlee's father as yells rose in the air. Andy had casually stuck out a leg and tripped someone who was coming in Papa Joe's defense, while Patrick had slipped around a staggering Pete, grabbing onto Ashlee as she lashed out at Pete with her bouquet.

He didn't see when Patrick had gotten her to calm down, but he was pretty grateful for it. There seemed to have been some pretty gross thorns still in those roses.

"Pete?" The round handle of the door turned experimentally, and Pete watched it with his good eye. The door remained locked, and he sighed almost silently. "Pete, why do you always have to do things the hard way?"

Pete gave a sharp laugh at that, and shook his head. "Patrick, just tell them to go, get going to the reception or something. Don't let the food waste."

There was a considering silence behind the white surface of the door. "Pete..."

"I don't fucking know." Pete rubbed at his temple and winced. "I don't know what happened. Only that it _couldn't_ happen."

"This kind of epiphany would have been _great_ at the rehearsals, you know?" Patrick's voice was dry, and he sounded as if he was kind of _singing_ the reprimand; Pete realised that he always adored Patrick's voice, the range of it, how it could rise from a low murmur and soar to a strong, high note. This was why he maintained that Patrick was a fucking _rock star_ ; his voice could change lives.

He wished it could change his now.

"Pete," Patrick said. "This is a huge fucking mess, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, sure, I know."

Pete listened as Patrick shuffled off, and then lightly pressed a finger to his swollen face and winced again. Like Patrick said, just one huge fucking mess.

* * *

The reporters were deadly and mocking, and Pete smiled sardonically at them all, literally fighting his way through interviews. Andy was surprisingly vocal, and gave his own opinions in his bland little voice.

"People are allowed to change their minds," he said. "Pete might be an asshole, but he's got his own choices to make."

"Gee, thanks," Pete said wryly when he watched that particular session on E! "I always knew you were my favorite, Hurley."

"You _are_ an asshole," Andy pointed out as he rooted through Pete's fridge and pulled out a large glass bottle of some random juice, making pleased sounds. "Everybody knows that. Also, you procrastinate too much."

"That's what I told him," Joe said from where he was lounging on the long sofa. Hemmy was on the floor, whining up at him for attention. "Hey, Hem. Come on up." Joe grinned as Hemmy leaped up and tried to bury himself into Joe's side. Joe petted his head absently. "Things like this make you look like a indecisive punk."

"But he is," Patrick said mildly from the round breakfast table, where he clicked and typed rapidly. He was frowning at the screen of his laptop and his nose was wrinkled. For some reason, Pete just stood there and stared at him, as if he was some sort of oasis and Pete was a man trudging through the desert. "I told him that doing that on his birthday might be a bad fucking idea, but Pete never listens to me."

"Of course I listen to you!" Pete tore his eyes away from where they were seemingly stuck on the side of Patrick's face, and placed the plates for dinner on the bigger table, the highly polished wooden one. Since the disaster, he had taken to staying in his house, hermit-like, and actually experimenting with recipes. He had burnt dinner on his first try, and there had been much grimacing and complaining as they ate, but he had gotten better.

He stopped as he was placing the forks, thinking deeply. They were all here; every day it seemed, one of them was hovering around him, fending off phone calls and suffering through Pete's culinary forays, but they _were here_.

"Holy shit," Pete breathed. "I love you guys."

"Just don't leave us at the altar," Patrick murmured, and then turned wide eyes to him. "Wait, that came out wrong, it's just that--"

"No, I get it." Pete rolled his eyes and set out the rest of the cutlery, a little smile touching the corner of his lips.

* * *

"I feel like a lot of changes are happening," Pete admitted to Patrick over the phone as he flung some vegetables into his wok. "I feel. Kinda lost, actually."

Patrick hummed over the line. "Do you regret anything?"

"Why should I?" Pete blurted and then thought about it. "I mean. I'll always think, what could have happened, how would we be together, what kind of kids we'd have." He paused and bit his lower lip, a habit he had picked up from Patrick. "Kids. Those would have been nice."

"Yeah." Patrick sounded a little wistful. "Kids."

"But, I dunno. I just felt that the chance to try and get it right was slipping away so fast, and I couldn't pin it down. All I know is that... it wasn't right."

"But you love her," Patrick said. "I mean. You still love her, right?"

Pete thought about this. He thought he might, in a way, that was the fucking weird thing about it. He had called Ash about five or six times, and she had hung up on him on every occasion, not that he blamed her, because he had no excuse. Papa Joe had taken every opportunity to disparage Pete to the media, and Pete couldn't really blame him either, at all.

"I do. Just..."

"Yeah," Patrick said heavily and as Pete stirred the vegetables briskly, he was positive Patrick understood. Fucking _sure_ of it.

* * *

Andy was laughing his head off as Pete put his plate down in front of him.

"The Emo Chef!" he yelled, holding onto his sides. Pete twisted his mouth in a wry grin, and put Patrick's plate down. "Oh, my god. Oh, shit, pour me some water, I'm dying."

Joe looked down at his own plate as Pete set it down, sniffing appreciatively. "Dude, are you sure about this?" he asked, poking at his food with his fork before taking a mouthful and nodded slowly.

"It's not like touring," Patrick pointed out as he swallowed. "This is TV, man. It's a whole other ball game."

"Yeah, it's not like you can bullshit around and charm everybody." Joe served himself some more of the rice. "Cooking is serious business."

"No, it isn't." Pete poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher as he sat down. "Decaydance is serious business. Clan is serious business. The cooking-show thing... that's for me." He popped in a forkful of food and chewed thoughtfully. "It feels right."

He couldn't explain just how right it felt. Pete, who had never been much of a cook, with his own show. It was going to be kind of fun, cooking with celebrities ( _other_ celebrities, the execs had said and Pete was vainly smug that he was still in that category, fuck yeah), and it was just going to run for a short while, anyway. Experimental.

Patrick was shaking his head and looking at him quizzically; Pete gave him a long, slow grin, and when Patrick grinned back and he felt his chest tighten, he was panicky and glad all at once, a strange combinations of emotions.

"You'll come cook on my show, right?" Pete asked quietly, and they all looked at him incredulously.

"What the fuck are you asking us that for?" Andy griped, and took some more of the noodles. "Of course, you dumbass."

They were rolling their eyes and kicking him under the table and mocking his little pleading voice, and Pete just wanted to hug these assholes to death.

* * *

Pete watched closely as Patrick muttered into his cellphone; unashamedly, he made no effort to hide the fact he was listening to every word. Patrick was pleading, something that Pete knew he hated to do, and his cheeks were high with color as he leaned against the wooden railing of the balcony. Then, Patrick's voice became cold and cutting, and he came back through the glass sliding doors, flinging his phone across the room; the cell-phone frightened Hemmy quite badly when it landed beside him on the sofa.

"Don't throw your shit around!" Joe admonished, coming to sit at the table. "You nearly gave Hem a heart attack. Aw, poor Hem," he cooed as Hemmy scampered over and begged at his feet. "You want some of this? Hmm?"

"Can we eat in this century, please?" Patrick said sourly. "Just. Feed me."

"Yes, boss."

Andy was chattering non-stop about some humanitarian effort he was thinking about signing up to, and Pete kept stealing glances at Patrick's unhappy face. This was his break-up face. It had been evident for a little more than a week, and it would stay there for _another_ week, a month, maybe two months, until he would abruptly dissolve into giggles at something random and it would be all alright once more.

Reality seemed to shift around him, as if the world was tilting slowly to the other side, and he just sat and looked at Patrick every now and again, taking in the sad droop of his mouth, the rapid blinking, and the fingers of one hand tapping on the surface of the table. He kept staring until Patrick looked up, and their eyes met.

It felt extremely right. It always did, and it was even more _right_ now.

"What?" Patrick snapped, but a small smile lifted at the side of his lips. "What, Emo Chef?"

 _Everything's changing, and everything's the same_ , Pete thought, but said, "Nothing, Patty-Bear," and grinned when Patrick scowled at him as Andy and Joe hooted with laughter; even Hemmy barked at that.

They returned to their eating; Pete just smiled in contentment every time Patrick looked at him. Reality settled in its new, proper groove, and even though Patrick's eyes were puzzled, they seemed to hold a sort of hopeful knowledge as well, and Pete just kept smiling.

 _fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Interesting Saturn stuff: "When Saturn in the heavens returns to the zodiacal degree where he was placed in your birth chart, you are said to be experiencing your Saturn return, one of the most important times of your life... It only happens once every 29 years, so at around age 28-30, 57-59 and (if you live long enough) 86-88 you have what astrologers call a Saturn Return. This signifies a time of transformation, an emotional transition from one life-phase to the next."  
> -[source](http://www.newage-directory.com/saturn.html)


End file.
